


Let's Go Flying!

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: Hermione and Neville try to learn how to fly. Their first day isn't exactly a success.





	Let's Go Flying!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_funnyfest 2007. The prompt was _Neville and Hermione strike a deal to teach each other to fly because this not flying thing is just ridiculous. They're both really bad at it, but persistent despite that they keep accidentally panicking and Apparating into the shrubbery or landing in the lake._

“Neville, can I talk to you?”

“I guess.” Neville looked up from his Charms text, meeting Hermione’s expectant face, and swallowed at the nearly manic gleam in her eyes. The last time she’d looked at him like that he’d been browbeaten into purchasing a SPEW badge just to get her to leave him alone. He wondered uneasily what new cause had fired her imagination.

“Wonderful!” Hermione sat down opposite him, still looking at him expectantly, bright eyes flicking from the Charms text, to him, and back until Neville got the hint and he put the book away, marking his place.

“What is it, Hermione?” he asked warily.

Hermione pulled a volume from her bookbag, holding it up so he could see the title: _Let’s Go Flying!_ by Sebastian Wright. The cover depicted a young wizard astride a broom, soaring with a confident smirk on his face. “It teaches you how to fly in only a few easy lessons,” she explained, unnecessarily.

“Madam Hooch tried to teach us how to fly in only a few easy lessons, too,” Neville pointed out. “I ended up in the hospital wing, and to this day you go pale every time Ron gets on his broomstick.”

“I do not!” Hermione denied, a little too quickly. Neville raised an eyebrow and she relented. “Oh, all right, but it’s because I’m afraid of how many times he’ll let the other team score before he finds his rhythm, not because I’m afraid he’ll fall off and hurt himself! I don’t worry about that with Harry, or Ginny, or any of the other Quidditch players!”

“Mmmmhmmm.” 

Tsking, Hermione pushed the book toward him. “The point, Neville, is that neither of us are good flyers, and if we’re to help Harry against Voldemort that needs to change. We’re magical folk, we ought to know how to fly a broom. To think otherwise is…well, it’s preposterous!”

“There are other ways to travel,” Neville said desperately, trying to be reasonable. “There’s Flooing, and Apparating, and…”

Hermione shook her head. “There could be anti-Apparition wards, and how many battles do you think take place with a fireplace and Floo powder conveniently nearby? Not many, I should think. No, we need to improve our flying skills, and this book will teach us how.”

“You’ve read it, then?” Neville wondered if he could talk his way out of this mad scheme, but couldn’t think of anything remotely persuasive. “You thought it was a better instructor than Madam Hooch?”

“We’ll have more time to practise on our own.” Hermione pulled a sheet of parchment from her bookbag and handed it to Neville. “That’s a copy of the Quidditch practise schedule for all four Houses,” she said. “The blocks in white are times when we aren’t in class and they aren’t on the field. We’ll have the pitch to ourselves.”

Everything was neatly colour-coded, with a distressingly large number of white blocks printed on the parchment.

“I…” he said, feeling the trap close around him.

“Marvellous! I’ll see you on the pitch Tuesday before dinner,” Hermione said, beaming. “I’ll let you get back to your Charms studies. Oh, and Neville?”

“What?” He looked up from his parchment copy, wondering why these things always happened to him.

“Don’t forget your broom!”

~*~*~*~*~*

Tuesday arrived all too quickly to Neville’s liking. Reluctantly, he departed the castle following the end of his last class and went to meet Hermione. He didn’t forget his broom, much as he wanted to. He found Hermione sitting in the lowest row of bleachers, her broom propped beside her while she paged through the copy of _Let’s Go Flying!_ The man on the cover seemed to be smirking more than ever.

“Oh good, you’re on time,” Hermione said, shutting the book with a muffled clap and standing. “Let’s get right to it, shall we?”

Neville followed her into the centre of the grassy pitch with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He wondered how long he had before a trip to the hospital wing would become necessary. Five minutes? Could he go as long as fifteen? Thirty, if he was exceptionally lucky?

He didn’t feel particularly lucky, and decided he’d last ten minutes. Maybe.

“I figured we’d start with the basics,” Hermione said, setting her broom on the ground and indicating Neville do the same. “Kind of like our first lesson with Madam Hooch.”

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t ask Harry or Ron or even Ginny to help you,” Neville blurted, trying to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. “They probably could teach you better than a book.”

Hermione looked at him, shocked that he could even suggest books weren’t as good as people, while the man on the book cover sneered. Neville stuck his tongue out, and the flyer zoomed out of sight. 

“Harry’s too busy stalking Malfoy, Ginny keeps talking about someone named Iggy and Ron is…he’s…busy,” Hermione said, the words trailing off weakly. She didn’t need to finish; though Neville knew nothing about Harry’s inexplicable preoccupation with Malfoy nor did he know anyone named Iggy, he had seen Ron and Lavender snogging at every opportunity, just like everyone else in the Gryffindor common room. 

Neville bit his lip and looked at the broom in his hand, trying to figure a way to escape the suddenly uncomfortable situation he’d placed them in. “I suppose the first step would be something like ‘Step One: Get on the broom’?” he asked, trying to sound positive. No one he knew had ever been injured just getting on a broomstick, not even himself.

Hermione smiled. “Something like. Shall we?”

They mounted their broomsticks. Neville waited while Hermione flipped through the how-to book with one hand. “Um…you don’t plan to fly with just one hand on your broom, do you?”

“Of course not!” Her eyes flickered back and forth across the pages for a few moments before she closed the book once more and set it on the ground. “Now, we grasp the handle in a firm grip. _Firm_ , Neville, not a stranglehold! I can see your white knuckles from here!”

Neville relaxed his grip, one finger at a time, then let go completely so he could wipe his sweaty palms against his jumper. The wrist he’d broken back in first year twinged in anticipation of further injury as he grasped the broomstick again and looked at Hermione for further instruction.

“The books says to push off lightly with one foot,” Hermione said.

“The book sounds exactly like Madam Hooch so far!” Neville exclaimed. “We both know how that went!”

“Just do it,” Hermione said, biting off each word.

Neville’s lips thinned at her peremptory tone, but he gingerly pushed the toe of one trainer against the ground. A slight jolt shivered through him and he rose into the air, just high enough so his shoes still skimmed the grass. He hovered bare inches above the ground, reminding himself not to grip the broom handle in a stranglehold, and glanced over to Hermione to see how she was faring.

“It’s not so bad,” he said encouragingly. “I might even try to go higher.” If he could keep the sweat from running into his eyes and if his equally sweaty palms wouldn’t slip from the broom handle, he added mentally. She looked nervous enough.

Hermione kicked off, using considerably more force than Neville had and shot up into the air with a shriek. Neville caught his breath, watching while Hermione clung to her broomstick for dear life. He thought about advising against stranglehold grips and decided not to. 

“What does the book say to do now?” he shouted up at her instead. He used his foot to gently push himself a few inches higher into the air. The sensation of hovering in midair was disconcerting, to say the least. He much preferred having both feet firmly on the ground.

“N-nudge the broom in the direction you want to go,” Hermione answered. Neville could barely understand her, partly because of the distance in height and partly because of the odd breathy tone her voice had taken.

Neville nudged his broom slightly to the left and found himself revolving in a slow circle. It was a little like riding a carrousel, not bad at all. Nudging it slightly to the right made him twirl in the opposite direction. It was almost fun, because he was only a few inches off the ground and if the broom decided to betray him he didn’t have far to fall. Gripping the broom in both hands and not nudging made the slow spin cease while keeping him floating just above the ground.

He could get used to this, Neville thought, impressed. Fifteen minutes had passed, and he didn’t have a single bruise, much less any broken bones or major internal damage.

Hermione, meanwhile, appeared to be having some difficulty. Her broom bobbed and jerked to and fro while she emitted breathy little shrieks and squeals, clinging for dear life.

“No strangleholds!” Neville shouted up to her. 

It was probably a good thing she was too busy trying to bring her broom back under control. The death glare she managed to fire in his direction was scary enough.

“You could always join me up here, you know!” she shouted back, the words drowned by another squeal when the broom jerked again.

Neville shook his head, which made him wobble queasily. He pointed the broom sharply downward and sprawled on the ground moments later, the broom digging into his spine. Climbing onto his feet, he mounted once more and pushed off just as gently, hovering about a foot off the ground. He didn’t dare go higher.

That could wait until next time, especially since Hermione was doing a splendid job demonstrating what not to do while in midair. She bobbed and weaved and bounced through the air like an American cowboy riding a bucking bronco at a rodeo, shrieking and screaming the entire time. 

Neville thought now might be a good time to consult the book. Sliding carefully from his broomstick and leaving it to hover, he picked up _Let’s Go Flying!_ and flipped through the pages until he found the section on landings.

“The book says to point downward at a slight angle!” he shouted up to her, hoping she heard him over her panicked screeching. He watched as she jerked the broom so it pointed downward, overcompensating. She plummeted into the shrubbery just off the pitch, leaves exploding in a green shower.

Swallowing hard, Neville snapped the book shut and ran to where he thought Hermione had landed, relieved when she emerged, scratched and with twigs in her hair and a bloodied nose, but otherwise unharmed.

“Maybe…maybe a slighter angle next time?” she asked shakily, wiping at her nose and wincing. “Broomstick smacked me when I landed. I don’t think it’s broken…”

“If it were broken, you’d know. Trust me,” Neville replied, pulling out his wand and pointing it at her. “ _Episkey_.”

“Thanks.” Hermione retrieved her broom and accepted his proffered arm. They walked back to the pitch, where Neville’s broom still hovered, waiting. “Maybe I should have tried your approach.”

“I might go higher next time,” Neville said, feeling an odd feeling of accomplishment. Their first practise session was over, and Hermione had been the one requiring first aid, not him. That, he thought, was saying something. “Float, then fly. Though if I crash I think I’ll aim for the lake. It might make for a softer landing.”

“And you could be rescued by the squid, like Dennis Creevey!” Hermione said, giggling.

“Ewww.” Neville shuddered at the thought of having a rubbery tentacle wrapped around him. “Maybe the shrubbery would be better.”

“So, Friday after dinner?” Hermione asked. “I think my bruises should be gone by then.”

Neville considered hovering perhaps a metre from the ground next time, and nodded. “Friday it is.”


End file.
